


My Tongue Dances Behind My Lips

by xxjinchuurikixx



Series: Volant Folium (wip) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Caught masterbating, Exhibitionism, First Time, M/M, Masterbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjinchuurikixx/pseuds/xxjinchuurikixx
Summary: Stiles is seventeen and very, very horny. Derek just adds to the hormones, and Stiles likes to torture himself, getting off to thought of Derek’s hands, his mouth, his everything. Mostly those things on Stiles in some way. One night, Derek gets him to spill the truth.





	My Tongue Dances Behind My Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go, diggin' myself a new hole.
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr!! [xxjinchuurikixx](http://xxjinchuurikixx.tumblr.com/)  
> -xo, mo

  
  


Stiles is a teenage boy, alright? He’s well acquainted with his own body and what it likes. He knows how to get himself off in a fifteen minute shower, and he knows how to drag an orgasm out, making it last for an entire video on his favorite porn site, though that only happens when his dad isn’t home. Stiles hates watching porn with headphones on. But he does like listening to music, his phone sitting on the pillow while he jacks off lazily, thinking about nothing and everything, his fantasy a blur. Stiles knows that thinking of Lydia’s beautiful mouth and soft hair catches his breath in his throat, but when he’s fingering himself, he thinks of being held and pushed and pulled, and comes so hard he shakes. 

So yeah, Stiles knows his body, and ever since werewolves became a huge part of his life, Stiles knows his favorite fantasies are about Derek Hale. It wasn’t exactly a conscious decision. Stiles didn’t set out one night to get his  hands on his dick thinking about Derek, but when he was about to come, he thought of being shoved up against the door of his bedroom, of Derek’s body hot and hard pushing up against his.

Stiles broke apart in an instant, some garbled moan that almost sounded like Derek’s name tumbling from his lips as his toes curled and his throat went dry. He shook for several minutes after, hazy and warm and light like he hadn’t been since the first time he touched his prostate.

The discovery slowly became an obsession, and before Stiles knew it, Derek was the center of his sexual world. He was the driving force of all of Stiles’ orgasms, the singular power that woke Stiles’ dick. He thought he was bi before, finding pleasure in both lithe, soft female figures and hard, powerful men. Now, Stiles thinks he’s something called Derek-sexual.

Being around Derek is kind of a pain in the ass. When he’s being a grouchy dick, glaring from under his eyebrows with his stupid perfect jaw, Stiles thinks about Derek getting him on his knees. When he’s softer, sometimes almost smiling, Stiles imagines Derek’s big arms around him, his lips everywhere, everywhere.

It’s no good, really. Derek is older, was almost a convicted felon, and is about a zillion light-years out of Stiles’ league. He’s a god amongst men, beautiful and wild and everything Stiles will never get his hands on.

He should have stuck with Lydia.

Still, that which is unattainable offers the best orgasms, as the old proverbs say, and Stiles will be damned if he denies himself the pleasure of pretending up a hundred situations of him and Derek.

He’s thinking of one when Scott nudges him out of his brain with his voice. “So, Allison and I are gonna go see that new spy movie tonight. Do you wanna come?”

Ah, Stiles thinks. The mandatory best-friend-invites-the-third-wheel invite. He adjusts his backpack as the mass of bodies shuffle towards the doors, thinking of the weekend ahead. “Nah, I’m not a big George Clooney fan.”

“Dude, you gotta get over the whole Batman thing.”

“Michael Keaton forever,” Stiles says. The sun is warm when they step outside, and he can smell grass and his own sweat from lacrosse practice sixth period. “But hey, have fun. Wanna do something tomorrow?”

“Definitely. Probably just go over and play COD. I’ll bring cinnamon rolls?” Scott grins, and Stiles remembers exactly why he loves him.

“A plan is a plan.”

“Alright, well then, guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Scott waves as he heads in the opposite direction, heading to where Lydia, Jackson, and Allison are standing in the parking lot.

Stiles scratches his nails against the strap of his backpack and looks away, shuffling to his Jeep. He feels like in this weird, supernatural situation he’s gotten himself into, he’s made himself a spare tire no matter what. Ever since the werewolf thing, every piece has sat where it belongs, except for Stiles.

He climbs into the Jeep and presses the heel of his palm to his eye until he sees stars, then he starts the engine and peels out of the lot, avoiding the traffic of other students about to leave.

When Stiles gets home, there’s a note stuck to the fridge from his dad, reminding him he works the night shift. Stiles texts him telling him he’ll be home all night, and his dad texts back for Stiles to make sure he locks the doors and gets some sleep.

Homework is boring as fuck, but Stiles finishes it and then gets in the shower to wash off the week. He pulls on a pair of loose sweats and a t shirt, warms up a hot pocket, and goes to his room. He spends some time watching Netflix, but he can’t even get through a whole episode of Great British Baking Championship. It’s not even ten yet, but Stiles is having difficulty ignoring his dick.

He’s thinking about Derek, obviously. Nothing gets him a semi faster than being home alone with Derek Hale on his brain. He closes Netflix and opens an incognito tab, because all those jokes on the internet about clearing your browser history for a friend if they die are just dumb. No history? No disappointed dad.

Not like Stiles thinks his dad would be disappointed in him. Most teenage boys watch porn. Albeit, most of them don’t watch gay porn with Derek Hale look-alikes fucking pretty twinks, but hey, at least Stiles doesn’t have to explain his taste to anyone.

He gets one of his favorite videos loaded up, because nothing is more frustrating than a fucking video buffering right at the good part, then lays back against his pillows and closes his eyes. He knows the video pretty well by now, and he can time it so he comes at the same time as the bottom, but he moves slower now, his dick waking up to the sound of messy cock sucking and rim jobs.

Stiles palms his dick with one hand, the other scratching through his hair as he pictures Derek licking him open, how good that dark stubble would feel against his thighs. He wants to know what Derek’s cock would feel like in his mouth, heavy and warm, wants to learn how to let Derek fuck his throat. Stiles wants so much, and at the center of it all is Derek, and that’s so fucked up because the odds of that happening are so far  _ below _ zero that it’s not even funny.

Opening his hazy eyes, Stiles watches the video as he strokes his cock through the thin fabric of his old sweats. The guy on top is pretty, bearded and muscled with trees tattooed along his arms, but he’s not nearly as gorgeous as Derek. His jaw is too soft, his ass too flat, but damn, his dick is big.

Stiles bites his bottom lip and whimpers, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. He’s flushed warm, his nerves tingling in anticipation as the top ruts his dick along the twink’s lubed ass.

Groaning, Stiles slides his hand into his pants, quietly calling, “Fuck, Derek,” head dropping back against the pillows as—

The bit of roof outside his window groans, and then the pane creaks as Stiles’ window slides open. “Stiles—“

“Derek!” Stiles shrieks, completely undignified and very unmanly as he tears his hand out of his pants and flails at his laptop. He closes the tab, slams his laptop shut, and shoves it off the bed, and it might be broken, but Stiles can’t even bring himself to worry about it when he’s burning hot with embarrassment.

He sits bolt upright, pulling his legs up, shuddering as Derek climbs completely through the window with more grace and sexual prowess than Stiles will ever have. He looks long and dangerous in Stiles’ softly lit room, leather jacket and black jeans cutting him out in a dark shadow. 

Stiles could stare for hours, but he has more pressing matters at hand. Like the way Derek looks around his room and takes in the situation. Those hazel eyes look from Stiles on the bed—shirtless and hard in his pajamas—to the laptop on the floor, then back.

Derek arches a brow. “I’m interrupting something?”

Stiles slides to the edge of his bed and sets his feet on the floor, pawing at his bed absently. “Do you know how to use a door?”

Derek’s scowl and head tilt combo does things for Stiles’ dick, and he tries to ignore it as Derek takes a step into his room, standing toe to toe with Stiles. “Sorry. I’ll improve my social skills so I can knock before I interrupt your private Stiles time.”

The way he says it makes shame flutter through Stiles’ chest. He closes his eyes and looks down, hands shaking as he tries to get a coherent sentence together.

“Derek, it… It’s not—whatever it looks like, it’s the opposite of that,” Stiles stammers, the room feeling small, so very small, with Derek standing over him.

Derek arches a brow, then nods. “Right… Cause it looks like you were about to jack off.”

Stiles nods. “Yup. The opposite of that.”

The hum of agreement Derek makes sounds more like a hungry dog holding onto a bone, and he nudges Stiles’ legs open with his foot.

Stiles lets his legs fall open, because he can’t focus and also because Derek is stepping between them the next moment, his knees touching the edge of the bed.

“It looks like you were about to jack off thinking of me,” Derek adds, his irises dark under his lashes as he looks down Stiles’ bare chest. “The way you do every night your dad isn’t home. When he has doubles, the night shift—when Scott is busy with Allison.” He glances at the nightstand. “Get your lube out and fuck your fist. Sometimes you finger yourself—the first time you got three fingers in, you cried my name into the pillow and came on your chin, and I was a split hair away from climbing through your window to fuck you on the floor right then and there.”

Stiles’ face is  _ burning _ , his blood beating in his ears, and his hands are white knuckled in the fabric of his pajama pants. “You… You’ve been  _ spying _ on me?”

Derek shrugs. “The first time I wasn’t. I was coming to check in on you; make sure you were okay and to see if you had any leads on the kanima.” He looks at Stiles’ face again, his expression open, earnest. “I swear, I was going to leave. I didn’t want to invade your privacy like that.”

“Oh, so why didn’t you?” Stiles demands. He feels exposed, indignant, and almost  _ dirty _ . But his dick doesn’t seem to be reading his brain signals right, because Derek telling him he’s been listening to him masturbate to thoughts of said werewolf for a couple  _ months _ has him getting back to a full hard on.

Derek kneels on the bed with one knee between Stiles’ thighs, setting his hands by Stiles’ sides when he lays back to escape, but really only further traps himself under Derek’s body. “Because you said my name.”

Stiles bites his lip. He can feel the blood coloring his face, and now his nipples have betrayed him as well, because they’re perked up and begging to be touched by Derek’s tongue. “You probably didn’t hear that right then.”

Smirking, Derek tilts his head slightly. “Werewolf. But, if it makes you feel better, I thought I’d misheard you, too. Your heart rate was up, and you smelled fucking fantastic, so when you said my name again, I thought for sure you were in distress and I’d misread the whole thing.” He leans in closer, lips brushing Stiles’ cheekbone when he speaks again. “But when I looked in the window you were on the floor, in very little distress. You had your jeans around your ankles, your shirt pushed up. Still half dressed like you couldn’t get your hands on your dick fast enough.”

Stiles looks away sharply, his stomach coiling with heat. Derek’s voice  _ does _ things to him when he talks about things that  _ aren’t _ Stiles’ dick. How is he supposed to handle this?

“I didn’t stay after that. Not the first time. I got as far away from you as I could, because the scent of you, the heat was going to drive me crazy, and I might have done something I would have regretted.” Derek turns his face, lips and nose dragging over Stiles’ throat, down the curve of his shoulder. “But you just get off so fucking much it was hard for me to ever show up here when you weren’t already in the act.”

“So you stayed… after the first time,” Stiles accuses. “You get off watching me fuck myself?”

And wow, it was meant to be an insult, but when Derek groans into his neck, Stiles actually leaks a little in his pants.

“I get off watching you fuck yourself while you imagine me doing it. I get off listening to you get wet and messy for  _ me _ ,” Derek says, setting one hand on Stiles’ hip, thumb digging into the soft skin of his iliac furrow. “You know I can smell you on your hands after you fuck yourself. Smell your sweat and cum in your skin the next day. Even when I don’t  _ see _ you do it, I know every time. You drive me fucking crazy, and I’m tired of it.”

Stiles wants to shove Derek off, wants to glare at him and tell him to fuck off, then. If Derek’s tired of Stiles getting himself off however he sees fit, then he should just piss into the wind. What the fuck  _ ever _ .

But Stiles trembles, his head lolling to the side, barring more throat to Derek’s searching lips. “So what… You’re done spying on me, then?”

Derek purrs into Stiles’ throat, teeth scraping the tendon pulled taut there. “Yes, Stiles. I’m done spying.”

Something curls in Stiles’ gut. It feels like disappointment, but he’s too confused by all the thoughts in his head.

Then Derek scoots forward, his thigh nudging Stiles’ dick like a blessing from above, and when Derek turns his head, Stiles is there to meet him. Derek’s lips are soft, so very warm as his mouth claims Stiles’ with a control and finesse Stiles is sure he’ll never manage.

He gets his hands in Derek’s hair and pulls, mouth falling open for Derek’s tongue to lick into him. And Derek licks hot and wet across Stiles’ lips, into his mouth, tasting Stiles’ tongue in smooth, strong strokes.

Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth, Derek’s hands gripping his hips, siding him up, dragging Stiles’ dick along his jean-clad thigh. And Stiles does his best to assist Derek’s motions, dry humping Derek’s thigh like a needy animal, groaning into Derek’s mouth.

Derek pulls back long before Stiles wants him to, pressing a few chaste kisses to Stiles’ cheek and jaw before he slides off the bed.

Stiles sits up on his hands, body burning and tingling, lips sore and already desperate for Derek to savage them again.

Derek kneels on the floor between Stiles’ thighs, sitting forward to kiss the soft hair at Stiles’ naval. His entire stomach quivers, a ripple effect that makes Stiles flush with embarrassment. Derek hooks his fingers into Stiles’ sweats, licking along his hips as he pulls them down Stiles’ thighs, around his knees… off.

Oh, Stiles’ sweats are off and he’s naked with Derek kneeling before his bed, and his dick is so hard and red, leaking along his belly the instant it’s freed. Derek tosses the sweats out of the way and smooths his hands up Stiles’ thighs, resting them warm and heavy at the juncture of his pelvis. He spreads Stiles’ legs wide open, and Stiles lets him, god, he lets him. His head falls to the side, resting on his shoulder as he breathes heavily through his mouth, watching Derek touch him.

Derek kisses the inside of one knee, then the other. He drags his lips slowly up the inside of Stiles’ right thigh, stopping short of his dick. Resting his cheek against Stiles’ thigh, Derek breathes in deeply at the base of his cock, nose against the soft curls there, eyes gleaming red when they flick up to Stiles’ face.

Stiles’ arms tremble, and he falls down on his elbows and groans, watching Derek move to his other thigh. He kisses the soft skin gently, thumbs rubbing arches at the V of Stiles’ open legs, nudging just at his perineum.

When Stiles thinks he might come just from having Derek’s warm breath so close to his balls, Derek stops. He opens the top drawer of Stiles’ nightstand and gets the handy bottle of lube out, then kisses a mole on Stiles’ inner thigh. He climbs up his body again, kissing Stiles like his mission is to unravel him with the pull of a single thread.

Stiles is dizzy when they part, Derek giving his mouth another tender, chaste kiss before he slides off of Stiles’ body. He lays beside him, leaning on his elbow with his arm around Stiles, fingertips touching his ribs. He sets the lube beside Stiles, then uses his other hand to turn Stiles’ face to him, nuzzling his nose along Stiles’ jaw, kissing his temple.

Stiles is so taken back by the tenderness Derek is using on him that he doesn’t even realize Derek’s other hand has moved, sliding to the back of his head, fingertips teasing his scalp. Stiles’ head leans back into the contact, then Derek’s fingers move and tense, pinching at the back of Stiles’ neck to hold him still, as if he were a kitten.

“Show me,” Derek purrs, his nails scratching over the nape of Stiles’ neck. They’re blunt, human, but the heat of his palm squeezing against Stiles’ neck makes his whole body tremble.

He looks down at himself, fully naked sprawled out on his bed, Derek next to him wearing that stupid, sexy leather jacket and jeans he probably had to sew himself into—how does he run in jeans that tight?

Stiles turns his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, smelling the mix of cologne and sweat there. He wants to dart his tongue out, to taste it, but he’s just not that brave yet. “Show you…”

Derek rests his head on top of Stiles’. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.”

There are so many reasons why Stiles should stop this. There are so many no’s in play, it’s not even funny. But the good reasons, the  _ yes’s _ are in his body as prevalent as his heartbeat. He’s wanted this for months, he’s needed this since before he knew what need felt like. Derek is warm and close and safe beside him, looking at Stiles like he  _ sees _ him, making him feel desirable,  _ wanted _ .

Stiles swallows hard, his face and chest burning, and he reaches between his legs and brushes his fingers up the inside of his thigh. Closing his eyes, he bites his lip, then curls his fingers around the base of his cock. It’s loose, gentle, and he slides up to the leaking head slowly, rubbing his thumb in all the precum oozing from the tip. Derek’s making him so wet.

He gets a better grip once he’s all slick and wet, then he jacks himself slow, teasing, the way he imagines Derek would, if they had the time. Sometimes he’s rough and fast, stuffing fingers in his ass and mouth, rutting against the mattress as he begs ‘Derek’ to let him come. Sometimes, like this, he drags it out as long as he can, and Derek’s eyes on him have the room feeling like a furnace, Stiles’ bones melting like sugar.

If this is a one time thing? Stiles is going to make it last the rest of his life.

Stiles breathes deep and shaky, spreading his legs wider, pressing one thigh along Derek’s. It’s good, the closeness of another warm, living thing, distracting Stiles enough that his head falls back against Derek’s shoulder as he rubs his dick harder.

Derek, so much closer than he was before, pinches the back of Stiles’ neck firmly, and his breath is hot against Stiles’ ear and temple when he commands, “Slower.”

Whimpering, Stiles’ mouth falls open as he slows back down, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, lazily rolling his hips into the warm slick of his palm.

Derek purrs beside him, nosing at Stiles’ temple, breathing warm and slow into his hair.  “That’s it. You smell so good, Stiles.”

Stiles shudders, turning his face into Derek’s neck. He licks his lips, tasting Derek’s throat softly. “Please.”

“What do you need?”

“Wanna… I want to finger myself,” Stiles rushes out, his cheeks burning.

Derek’s hand on the back of his neck squeezes, a warm, comforting ache. “Go ahead, baby. Let me see.”

Stiles’ hands shake as he uncaps the lube and gets a generous amount onto two fingers of his right hand. He breathes hard through his mouth, looking down as he warms the slippery fluid between his fingers. He strokes his cock lazily with his left hand, feeling bold enough to throw his leg over Derek’s thighs, spreading himself open.

Derek growls, pulling Stiles close, nudging at him until he lifts his head so Derek can nose and nip against his throat.

Stiles slides one finger in, moaning as he spreads the slick around before getting the second one in very quickly. He curls them slowly, dragging his fingertips just around his prostate without touching it. He’s so overwhelmed with heat and want and emotion, he would probably come immediately. As many times as Stiles has gotten off to thoughts of Derek, touching himself while imagining it was Derek doing it, fuck, none of it prepared him for the feeling of Derek’s body beside his while he sought his pleasure.

“Does that feel good, Stiles? You like stretching yourself open?” Derek purrs, stroking his fingertips along the nape of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles digs his fingers deeper, biting his lip as he scissors them, knows Derek can smell the heat between his legs. “You know I do,” he groans, rolling his hips up as he thrusts deeper.

“Tell me,” Derek says, fingers running up Stiles’ side, teasing the bare skin of his taut stomach.

Stiles growls. He wants to punch Derek in the face, wants to drag him closer and kiss him again. As it is, however, he has three fingers in his ass and a hand on his cock, and the smell of Derek’s cologne is fucking fantastic. “I… I like it. I like how it f-feels. Love thinking about your hands when I touch myself.”

Derek kisses Stiles’ temple again, a space Stiles is starting to think Derek has a thing for. “Want me to touch you?”

The noise Stiles makes is so fucking embarrassing, high and needy and broken, but he nods fiercely, tucking his leg tighter over Derek’s thighs. “Please.”

Derek’s hand flutters over Stiles’ heaving chest, barely brushing his nipples. “Not yet. Come for me first. Make a mess for me the way you do when you’re alone, wishing it was me making you come.”

Stiles pants, moaning as he twists his fingers and curls them, expertly nailing his prostate as he fucks his fist faster. He presses down hard, pinpricks and white stars dancing across his skin before he chokes out a broken cry. Then he’s coming, leaking over his knuckles, painting his stomach.

His entire body trembles, and Stiles keeps whimpering as Derek pulls him close and kisses him. He keeps fucking his fist, milking himself with jerky motions until Derek gently takes his wrist, pulling his fingers free.

The room feels tilted, warm, Derek’s lips and tongue gentle as Stiles’ mind grows hazy, too pleasure-fogged to cooperate with the kiss. Derek lets Stiles lay back against the mattress, and Stiles’ brain registers some clarity when Derek’s mouth closes around his fingers.

Stiles gasps, his other hand curling around his cock, squeezing, because holy shit, he’s about to have another orgasm. “Derek, wha—“

Derek snarls, tongue lapping wetly around Stiles’ fingers, nose crinkling. “Too much lube.” He holds Stiles by the wrist and presses his nose to his palm, breathing deep. “I wanted to eat you out, but that’ll have to wait till you’re clean.”

“Derek, holy shit,” Stiles gasps, watching as Derek takes his fingers back in his mouth, sucking and growling, feral. “Derek, please.”

Derek pulls off with a contented groan, kissing Stiles’ knuckles before he releases his wrist. “Want me to touch you now, pup?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Stiles drops his hands, one to the bed sheets, the other to Derek’s knee, and rolls his hips up.

Derek chuckles quietly, then he’s bowing over Stiles’ chest, one hand pinching and pulling at Stiles’ nipple while his mouth works the other. Stiles arches up into the contact, shamelessly voicing his pleasure as Derek uses his free hand to smear Stiles’ cum across his stomach. He turns his head, licking at the mess across his fingers before holding Stiles down, covering his chest in fading bite marks and wet kisses.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Stiles. Can’t wait to see what you look like when you come for me,” Derek huffs, sinking his teeth into the jut of one bony hip. With his teeth in the skin, Derek closes his lips over the flesh and sucks, hard.

Stiles’ cock twitches eagerly, his head falling back as he moans at the ceiling. “I just did.”

Derek chuckles, the sound between a hum and a growl, and it makes Stiles’ dick buzz. “When you come from my touch, then. When my hands and teeth pull you apart.”

Wriggling his hips, Stiles misses the heat of Derek on top of him as he slides to the floor next to the bed. He grabs Stiles under his knees and drags him to the edge of the bed, his ass slightly hanging over, then spreads Stiles’ thighs wide with his broad palms.

Stiles looks between his legs, and he lets out an embarrassing, needy moan as Derek licks his messy cock and slides two fingers into his slick hole without hesitation.

Derek’s fingers are thick and hot, filling Stiles better than his own ever could, reaching an angle he could never achieve. It feels like Derek is carving him open, making a space inside of Stiles where only he can fit. He kisses along Stiles’ dick, nuzzling it, getting his cheeks and lips wet with the mess Stiles has made.

“Derek… Derek, please,” Stiles pants. He drops his head back, body arching as Derek rubs his prostate in crescent motions. He curls his fingers in the sheets and pulls.

“Want me to fuck you?” Derek asks, setting his teeth on Stiles’ hipbone.

Stiles nods, dizzy with pleasure. “Fuck, please, please.  _ Please  _ fuck me.”

Stiles has gone from fantasizing about Derek to having Derek offer to fuck him in one night, and his mind can’t catch up to all that’s happening. Sure, his virginity would be gone, but he would have Derek’s dick in him, and that’s been the dream all along. The goal, the almighty end.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you like you’ve been fantasizing about? Oh, how did you put it… Want me to hold you down and fuck you full? Want me to breed you?”

Stiles chokes, lifting his head to glare at Derek as Derek thrusts his fingers in deep and curls them. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“You never shut up. Figured you’d be talkative when you jack off,” Derek says, grinning. His voice is teasing, but not malicious, and Stiles flushes and smiles, huffing. God, who knew Derek and him could be easy.

“Didn’t know anyone was listening.”

“I was,” Derek hums, then sits forward and sucks a mark into the skin of Stiles’ left thigh. “I heard everything; all of it. And I’ll give you everything you wanted, Stiles. All you have to do is ask.”

Stiles closes his eyes, let’s the feel of Derek’s fingers dragging in and out of him distract him from how dangerous this all is.

Stiles still isn’t eighteen, though he’s of age for consent, because yeah, he googled it when he developed a crush on a hotter-than-the-sun dude six years older than him. His dad still doesn’t really trust Derek, and Scott probably never will. Derek is an alpha werewolf, and Stiles is a more or less fragile human.

But in the end, Stiles knows himself well enough to understand that literally none of that matters when Derek’s concerned.

He sits up, the action curling Derek’s fingers inside of him, and he moans into Derek’s mouth as he kisses him. Stiles scratches his nails behind Derek’s ear, across his scalp, and the groan he gets in return floods him with pleasure.

Breaking the kiss, Stiles is pleased when Derek chases his mouth, and he pushes his forehead hard against Derek’s. “Please… please, I want all of it. I want you. I want you so much, Derek.”

Stiles didn’t mean to sound so genuinely sincere, but fuck if he can hide himself from Derek.

He looks into Derek’s eyes and sees the surprise, the tenderness that is close to pain there. He cups Derek’s face in his hands and kisses him once, soundly and gently, the way Derek has after each of their ferocious kisses.

So Stiles is probably in love with Derek. So Derek probably doesn’t feel the same. Stiles decides it doesn’t really matter, so long as he can keep kissing Derek softly like this, so long as when he pulls away, Derek’s eyes stay closed for a moment in bliss.

Derek kisses Stiles’ collar bone, then slips his fingers out of his warm, wet clutch and massages Stiles’ perineum with his slick fingers.

Stiles lays back and watches Derek get to his feet, shrugging his jacket off before pulling his gray Henley over his head. The motion makes his stomach roll, and Stiles reaches between his legs and strokes himself lazily, admiring the view.

Derek unbuckles his belt, and for a second Stiles pictures him pulling it through the belt loops, fastening it around Stiles’ wrists to keep him still. Derek grins, shaking his head as he undoes the button on his jeans. “Not so fast, pup.”

“I have an active imagination.” Stiles frowns, dropping his cock so he can reach for Derek, running his hands up those hard, deep-cut abs, over the soft, dark hair on Derek’s chest.

Derek’s eyes flutter shut, one hand covering Stiles’, dragging it down his abdomen, the other tangling into Stiles’ hair. It’s not a very good grip, since Stiles’ buzz cut is still barely growing out, but Derek uses it to tug Stiles close.

Brain-to-mouth filter broken for an entirely different reason, Stiles lets his mouth drop open and he laves his tongue over the soft skin pulled tight over firm muscle, and Derek groans above him. Stiles’ free hand brushes absently over one of Derek’s nipples, down his side, then cups over the outline of Derek’s dick in his pants and rubs.

Growling, Derek pulls Stiles’ eager mouth from his torso, and when Stiles blinks up at him, dazed, those hazel eyes are burning through with red like a forest on fire.

“Hands and knees,” Derek commands, and Stiles gets up and rolls over so fast he’s expecting to be teased over it. But Derek doesn’t comment, and Stiles trembles as he spreads his knees apart and listens to Derek dragging his zipper down behind him.

“Stiles,” Derek says, voice softer than it’s been all night. Stiles glances over his shoulder at him, admiring the way the light cuts over Derek’s bare shoulder, sets the ends of his black hair gold. “If you want me to stop, ever, all you have to do is say. Okay?”

Stiles gulps, nodding, his hands clutching at the sheets.

Derek smooths a palm up his back, kisses the small of Stiles’ back softly. “You want me?”

Stiles nods again, heartbeat picking up anxiously.

“You trust me?”

Huffing, Stiles drops his head between his shoulders, falling down on his elbows. Presenting. He’s presenting himself to Derek, offering himself up for the wolf’s taking. “Yes,” he gasps. 

Derek groans, dragging his beard over the curve of Stiles’ ass. He drags his hands down Stiles’ sides, angling his hips higher. “Just your knees,” he commands, and Stiles folds his arms under his chest, resting his shoulders against the mattress. He’s panting, trying to relax as he feels Derek slip two fingers into him again, twisting and curling like before. 

Like this, with his ass higher, legs spread, Stiles feels vulnerable and exposed, but he feels so safe. It’s not like he ever considered Derek the safest place, but maybe part of him always trusted Derek, always saw him as a place of protection.

When Derek sets a hand on Stiles’ hip, fingers curling, holding, Stiles sags against the mattress, exhaling slow and easy. He feels Derek lining up, the head of his cock burning hot, nudging along Stiles’ cleft. It catches on Stiles’ puffy rim every upstroke, and Stiles gnaws on his lip and curls his toes.

“Relax, baby,” Derek purrs, and then he’s pressing in, in, in.

Stiles bears down, crying out as Derek slides deep, thighs flush to Stiles’ ass in a breath. Stiles feels fragile, so full a single motion would break him like glass, but his entire body hums with want and need. Derek feels so good inside him, filling Stiles to the hilt like he belongs there.

Derek bows over Stiles’ back, nudging deeper, breathing warm and shaky against the back of Stiles’ neck. “You feel incredible, Stiles. So tight and perfect.”

Stiles shudders, hips quaking. He opens his eyes, realizes he’s crying. 

“Am I hurting you?” Derek murmurs, kissing the knobby bone at the top of Stiles’ spine.

“N… No. No, it d-doesn’t hurt. F—feels amazing,” Stiles manages, licking his lips. “’s jus’ a lot.”

Derek laughs quietly at that, running one big hand down Stiles’ side, resting it on his thigh. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh-ho, you should,” Stiles says, and Derek pulls him close, folding over him completely. Stiles whines low and long at that, Derek buried so deep in him, nudging all the right places.

“Want me to move yet?”

“You’re being so polite,” Stiles says, blinking up at Derek as the wolf eases off of him, kneeling between Stiles’ thighs, hands on Stiles’ hips. 

“I don’t want to hurt you… Yet,” Derek says, pulling back just an inch before sliding back into Stiles fully.

Stiles feels the tingles run up his spine, down his dick, and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus. “Yet?”

Derek digs his thumbs into Stiles’ sides, and Stiles muffles his startled cry into the mattress. “Don’t worry, pup. I’ll fuck you hard and rough once I’m sure I won’t hurt you.”

The words startle Stiles. The last thing he’s come to expect from Derek Hale is tenderness, but here he is, running his hand up Stiles’ back, rubbing soothing circles into the space between his shoulder blades. He keeps rocking gently, barely slipping out of Stiles before grinding deep and slow. Stiles gnaws on his bottom lip, breathing slow through his nose. He can feel the burning ache of being so full dissipating, the pain of being breached for the first time melting away into a subtle, honeyed ease.

Stiles rubs his forehead against the mattress, moaning softly as his dick regains interest in the happenings. “Derek,” he murmurs, and Derek ducks forward and kisses his shoulder.

“More?”

Stiles nods.

“Okay, baby,” Derek says, nuzzling his face against Stiles’ back before sitting back up. Stiles feels Derek’s hips shift, coarse hair brushing the backs of his thighs and the curve of his ass, and then Derek’s hands brace on his waist, warm and secure.

Derek pulls out slow, teasing, until only the head of his cock is still inside Stiles. He thrusts back in, not too fast, but with power, a promise of what he can do to Stiles’ body.

The action makes Stiles’ back arch harder, a cry breaking from his lips as sparks light up his body. Derek is so big, thick and long, filling Stiles in a smooth motion that makes his stomach and toes curl.

Stiles bites his lip, his torso roiling with fire, his chest and throat flushed. The stinging, aching pressure of Derek’s initial push inward is bleeding away, fizzling into a searing heat that just keeps building every time Derek pumps into him.

Derek picks up the pace, his thrusts a bit rougher, stronger, and Stiles feels like he’s sinking and floating at the same time. A suddenly sharp thrust at a slightly different angle sparks Stiles like a live wire inside and out, his prostate hit directly, and he bows down into the mattress and cries out.

The soft growl behind him is laced with mirth. “Right there, baby?” Derek does it again, holding Stiles’ hips still just so, and Stiles’ skin breaks out in shivers, and then a heated sweat.

The promise of Derek’s strength is fulfilled then, and he fucks Stiles with vigorous abandon, hitting that sweet spot inside of him every time.

Stiles presses his face against the mattress, moaning and begging without words, muffling his every need into the bed.

Derek’s palm is warm on the back of his sweaty neck, the sting of his claws forcing Stiles to lift his head to avoid being cut. “No,” Derek snarls.

Stiles looks over his shoulder weakly, whimpering, keening noises falling from his lips.

“You don’t hide from me. I want all of it. Every sound you make is for me, it’s mine. Your skin, your breath, your  _ need _ , it’s mine; understand?” Derek punctuates his statement with a flicker of ruby in his eyes and a hard thrust, his thigh smacking the back of Stiles’ ass.

Stiles cries out, curling his fingers in the sheets. “Yes… Yes, Derek—please.”

“Say it.”

“Yours… yours, it’s all yours,” Stiles whines, resting his forehead against the mattress, curving his back as Derek keeps fucking him. He doesn’t try to be quiet, not anymore. He moans and gasps loudly, every thrust punching sounds from his bitten lips, his chest on fire. Stiles doesn’t even try to get a hand on his dick. He already came once, and if he can last long enough, maybe Derek will fuck him again. Maybe Derek will come back and give him this, if he thinks Stiles is good enough. Whenever Derek wants it, when Stiles needs it.

“You’re so good. Too good, Stiles,” Derek groans, setting his hands on the small of Stiles’ back, running them up his spine. He grips Stiles’ shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscle beside the bone in a dragging motion as he rolls his hips. “Good.”

“Wanna…” Stiles swallows thickly, his throat dry from panting heavy. “Wanna be good for you.” Derek’s hands slide back down his sweaty back, finding homes on Stiles’ hips, fingers curled around bone and flesh like they were made to be there. Two pieces carved to fit, finally.

“You are. You’re so gorgeous, Stiles. You feel good?” Derek murmurs, draping his body over Stiles’ back. He kisses and licks at the back of Stiles’ neck, nosing into his sweaty hair.

Stiles nods, rocking back into Derek’s thrusts. “Feel so good. Knew you’d feel just like this.”

Derek huffs against Stiles’ shoulder, the sound close to a laugh. “Yeah? You knew?”

“Wanted you to fuck me… so long. Since forever. Please,  _ god _ , Derek, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans, setting his teeth on the nape of Stiles’ neck. He fucks him a little harder, a little faster, rough enough that Stiles loses the ability to speak. He can only beg for his pleasure with broken cries, keeping his hips up so Derek can fuck in just right.

It feels like it lasts forever, but Stiles knows that would be too good to be true.

There’s a little puddle on the blankets where his cock is dripping between his thighs, and there’s a damp spot from Stiles’ drooling, pleading mouth. “Der… Derek, I need to come.”

Derek hums behind him, slowing his thrusts. He slams in hard, grinds deep, and holds Stiles down on his cock for a long moment before repeating the action. It makes Stiles gasp and writhe, but a broad, hot hand palms the sweaty dip between his shoulders and holds him down.

“You think you deserve that, good boy? Think you’ve been good enough for me?” Derek’s claws lightly scrape over Stiles’ shoulder, sweat burning the little red lines left in their wake.

Stifling a cry, Stiles shakes his head. “Only… only if you think so. Please.”

Derek eases his grip on Stiles’ hip, and when he slips from Stiles completely a crash of anxiety falls through Stiles’ body. He whimpers, curling onto his side on the mattress, afraid Derek won’t finish, won’t stay.

That panic is quickly soothed away by Derek’s body draping over Stiles’, kisses landing on his sweaty temple, his cheek, the back of his neck. “Roll over. I want to see your face when I come inside you.”

Stiles shudders, tilting his face, seeking Derek’s mouth. He gives his lips freely, kissing Stiles slow and hot, running his hand down Stiles’ chest and belly, lightly stroking his cock as Stiles shakily turns over onto his back.

Derek loops an arm under him, pushing Stiles further onto the bed, letting him drape comfortably across the rumpled blankets. He spreads Stiles’ thighs open with his broad hands, kneeling in the center of the mattress between Stiles’ legs.

Stiles drops his arms over his head, eyes slipping shut as the burning need to have Derek inside him again. “This is a dream. Or I died… I’m dead.”

A kiss laced with a laugh covers Stiles’ lips, soft and warm. “Not yet.”

“Are you gonna kill me? Can I die from an orgasm?”

Derek kisses him quiet again, wrapping an arm around the small of Stiles’ back, lifting him up. Derek slips back into him with ease, his cock spearing Stiles open with a lick of pain and then a burst of fiery pleasure. “I’m gonna breed you, like you’ve been wanting. I’m gonna hold you down and fuck you full of my cum.”

“Derek,” Stiles whines, the sound hardly human. He wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, pulling him deep and close. He slips one hand into Derek’s hair, kissing him slow and wet while Derek ruts into him at a much slower pace than he’d been fucking him before.

It feels weird, intimate and hot and somehow calming, despite the rage of pleasure burning between them. Derek pulls away from the kiss, and when he rocks back onto his heels he drags Stiles up with him, holding that lithe body in his lap.

The change in position has Stiles’ weight pulled down hard on Derek’s cock by gravity, and he clings to Derek and buries his face in his neck, moaning shamelessly as his hips quake. It grinds him down on Derek’s lap, the pleasure blinding hot as it climbs up through his gut. Stiles’ cock leaves messy streaks of precome all over Derek’s abs.

“Are you ready?” Derek asks against Stiles’ lips, arms hugging tighter around him.

Stiles pushes their foreheads, crying out desperate and long. “Please… No, please. Don’t. Don’t stop, Derek, please, I can’t—don’t stop.”  He sounds reedy and pathetic, but Stiles tangles a hand in Derek’s hair and clings to his shoulders, his thighs tense as he tries to hold Derek down, hold him inside forever. He never wants to let go of this feeling.

Derek smiles, laughing breathlessly before he kisses Stiles. He kisses him and kisses him, still holding him down on his lap, hugging him close. “You’re so cute, Stiles. I’m gonna fuck you again; don’t worry. My pretty boy, you feel so good—how could I not fuck you again?”

“God, Derek, please—“Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, every little nerve in his body glowing like white fire as he starts coming. He digs his nails into Derek’s back, an action that gets him a grateful moan. 

When he tries to bury his face into Derek’s shoulder, the wolf grabs him by the jaw, forcing Stiles’ head back so he can keep those eyes on his face. Watching him come. Stiles lets out a broken sob and starts painting his and Derek’s stomachs with cum.

Derek lays him back across the bed, and Stiles’ arms drop from around Derek’s shoulders helplessly. His vision is bleary with tears, chest heaving, but he manages to look up into Derek’s eyes and watch his face as Derek starts coming apart above him.

His hips snap into Stiles without finesse, jerking, quick motions as Derek growls through his dropped fangs, eyes glowing as his brows furrow.

Stiles lifts one trembling arm and cups Derek’s cheek, watching the shiver of the change pinch at the edges of Derek’s features.

His cock gives a little twitch, a spurt of come dripping over his stomach at the thought of Derek, half wolf, all wolf, whatever phase of the shift he wanted, fucking Stiles with the same need and ferocity.

“Derek,” Stiles mutters, hoping the name sounds right, and Derek folds down over him and kisses Stiles so gently, so warmly, Stiles sobs into those lips. Derek kisses him like that as his trembling slows, buried deep in Stiles’ ass, heat and sweat turning so salt as the atmosphere dries on their skin.

Derek rests on one elbow above Stiles, kissing his pale throat until Stiles thinks he’s about to black out. “You smell so good… Makes me wanna—“Derek cuts off, grinding his hips into Stiles, making him yelp at the sensation.

It’s hot like sparks, his stomach dropping in a swoop, but fuck, Stiles knows he’s not gonna get it up again that fast. He clings to Derek’s shoulders, whimpering. “Please, Derek, I… I want to, I just—“

“It’s alright, baby,” Derek says very softly against Stiles’ mouth. He kisses him again, a sweep of tongue along Stiles’ bottom lip, and then props himself up on both arms. “I’ll teach you how to take me more than once.”

Stiles’ face bursts with heat, and he turns away as Derek kneels up, letting his dick slip free. Stiles feels the slick rush of come immediately start to ooze out of him, and he nearly whites out when Derek swirls two fingers through the mess and then pushes it back inside of him.

“Are you sore? It’s a bit red,” Derek says, running his free hand up Stiles’ inner thigh, kissing his knee.

“Not yet I’m not… but I think my bones have gone all jellied,” Stiles admits, and Derek smiles down at him, gently removing his fingers and leaning over Stiles to kiss him again. 

“I’m gonna get you cleaned up, alright? Rest,” Derek says, and Stiles obediently closes his eyes.

He dozes off, waking up to Derek wiping a cool cloth over his thighs. He drinks the cup of water Derek offers him, then lets Derek pull the messy blanket out from beneath him and cover him with a clean comforter.

Derek perches on the edge of the bed, running his fingers down Stiles’ bruised throat. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Oh… I think we’re way past that,” Stiles says, arching into Derek’s gentle touch.

Derek leans over him, nosing at Stiles’ temple, scenting his sweat. “You’re mine now… You understand that, yes?”

“I think I’m  _ way _ past understanding. I have fully accepted and submitted myself to that,” Stiles retorts, lifting his own hands into Derek’s hair. “Are you mine too?”

Snorting, Derek kisses him. “I can consider that...If I’m keeping you, I guess it’s important to point out there’s no one else. Just you.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that is one thousand percent alright with me. Mutual keeping.”

Derek lies down over Stiles, a growl echoing in his chest. “Ownership that extends from wolf to Stiles, and Stiles to wolf.”

“Stiles to  _ Derek _ ,” Stiles sighs, spreading his legs beneath the comforter so Derek can nestle comfortably between them, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist. “And the wolf is a bonus.”

“You’d want me if I wasn’t a wolf? If I couldn’t fuck you like I just did?”

Stiles giggles, his head light from his orgasms, from being so tired suddenly. “I think you could still fuck me like that if you weren’t a wolf… Besides--it’s you. That’s what I want. I want  _ you _ .”

Derek curls around Stiles, getting his arms around him and squeezing him tight. “Don’t be stupid, Stiles…”

Stiles holds Derek back, just as tightly, his body slipping through awareness like a rock feather through cloud. “If you were worried about me being stupid… you would have stuck to spying on me.”

Derek settles over him, heavily, like he’s giving up. Even if it’s just for now. 

Stiles is pretty sure, in his mostly asleep, barely awake mind, that he can convince Derek to give up for good. He just has to give his ass a rest first.

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be part of a series, but then the direction got a bit fluffier, then more angsty, and now I am pressing my head against a big tree in the forest. There will be more to this, just... Once I decide how to meld the angst and the fluff smoothly.  
> Aaaaand I have no idea how to gif this fic, because I suck. Also.


End file.
